


Strength Isn't All You Need

by MarshmallowNerd



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Hospitals, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love Confessions, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Jurassic World, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowNerd/pseuds/MarshmallowNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Dearing is a strong, capable woman, and Owen doesn't doubt that. But in one instance, her strength nearly leads to her downfall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was just barely nodding off when he was hit by a wave of tingling nerves in his left hand. He must’ve been leaning his head against his fist for too long. With a low groan, he shifted to be leaning more on his other side. He hadn’t expected to come so close to falling asleep here; he was sitting in what must have been the most uncomfortable plastic chair in the state. But at least it served as a fast-working reminder of where he was while the hazy effects of sleep slowly left him. Of course, if the plastic chair didn’t do that job, the sterile smell of the room, the steady sound of machines working tirelessly, the creak of wheels dutifully carrying said machines across the hall, or the many colorless walls would work just as well. However, the _why_ he was in a hospital took slightly longer to recall. Slightly.

_To fully understand how it came to this, he thought back all the way to the situation at the park. All their problems seem to link back to that these days. After that disaster had occurred at Jurassic World, Owen had told Claire Dearing that they’d better stick together for survival. And he had meant it. The pair had hardly left each other’s side as they rode the fallout of their shared incident, which was especially trying in terms of the media, where seemingly everyone wanted to know and share what had happened by the minute. On top of that was the other challenge of handling the repercussions on their mental states after such a traumatic episode. Admittedly, Owen felt better equipped for dealing with that kind of stress, due to his time with the Navy. For Claire, it was an entirely new ordeal. Additionally, she had simply been so relieved to just be alive, and to have helped her nephews and Owen make it out of there alive, she hadn’t even tried thinking about what to expect. The nightmares had come up completely out of the blue for her. And the flashbacks. The guilt was least surprising. That one hadn’t quieted ever since the Indominus had escaped from her pen, and killed two men in the process. Very nearly killed Owen, too._

_Although, now it felt like he was very nearly going to be eaten by something else entirely. It was difficult for him to put into words, the terrible feeling—somewhat akin to helplessness—that arose when seeing Claire in such pain. Especially because it was something he could not physically fend off for her. He did what he could, and she told him it was enough. How he would anchor her, comfort her, in her random bouts of panic. Hold onto her, and promise she would be alright (even if he wasn’t sure) after she experienced a haunted sleep filled with nightmares. Filled with the screams and shouts and roars of monsters and their victims. Of her loved ones, in danger._

_Then suddenly, the tables turned one night. He had been the first one to fall asleep, due to how comfortable he was in a bed that was all his and Claire’s own, rather than the hotel bed they had shared on Costa Rica near the park. Their housewarming present that night had been a literal storm. Thunder clapped so heavily over their roof that the small house trembled for a brief moment. It was enough to send him back to the island, where the ground shook because of such massive creatures on the hunt for them. Although, he had not been worried at first. Despite hiding them from Claire, he had indeed experienced his share of flashbacks to the island. Yet, for some reason, this particular night showed him the incident in an altered way. Specifically, towards the very end of the adventure, when they should have been so close to finally leaving the island. Claire had raced to their ultimate aid with a flare, just as she always had, leading the Tyrannosaurus Rex in a desperate chase to get the Indominus away from him and her nephews. But this time, when she threw the flare, the T-Rex did not follow after it. It continued to pursue her, instead. He had felt a mixture of admiration and incredulity when he first saw her trying this, but now there was only pure terror for her sake. And what’s worse, the Indominus was still after him, Gray, and Zach. The nightmarish creature tore at their makeshift shelter, its teeth and claws blocking his view of Claire and the T-Rex. He feared for the boys, facing the Indominus like this. And he feared for Claire, somewhere out of his sight, going against the T-Rex._

_He wanted to find her. He knew she would want him to stay and make sure Zach and Gray were alright. But for a morbid moment, he didn’t care. He_ needed _to get to_ her _. He owed her that much, for saving him during the aviary creatures’ attack. He_ loved _her, for never ceasing to surprise him with her courage. With her spirit. Her strong-will, especially to amend wrongs that were partly her fault._

_It turned out that whatever he did wouldn’t matter. While still out of his line of sight, he heard a devastating crunch shortly following the unmistakable sound of Claire’s screams. He echoed it with his own shout, crying out her name both in the dream and the waking world._

_Before that moment, whenever he had an episode, he would do his best to swallow it. He was determined to be strong for Claire. But something about blindly hearing her be lost to a carnivorous dinosaur had completely unraveled him, and his brave front completely shattered. And she held onto him as he did, weaving her fingers into his hair and whispering that he was alright. That_ she _was alright. And he kept his ear pressed against her heart, using the rhythmic sound of its beat to reinforce her words._

_After that night, he promised to be more open with how much the ordeal affected him. However, it made her retreat into herself. He hadn’t noticed it at first, because she was soon asked to attend a press conference in Malibu. The press was already satisfied with the amount of information it had gained about what had happened from leaked footage and photos, and eyewitnesses that were more willing to share than Claire and Owen. But now there was a call as to what would become of Isla Nublar now. And Claire was being called in early, so she could discuss with the rest of the company on an agreeable answer. Owen, of course, wanted to go with her, but Claire was adamant he stayed out of it. She reasoned there was no logical point in it; it would be endless talk of company politics, which he had no interest in. Also, there would be an abundance of reporters and paparazzi, all desperate to get exclusive details first, who would do nothing but annoy him._

_“Besides,” she threw in towards the end of the discussion, “it’ll only take three days, at the most. I’ll be back in no time.”_

_He was still uncomfortable with her being on her own, almost completely across the country. “But what if…something happens?”_

_He felt relieved she understood what he meant with so few words. True, anything could happen to either one of them at any time for any reason; it was a part of being human, especially a human that had shared a part in a catastrophe such as the one at Jurassic World, where several people had lost lives. Many relatives of said victims had made it clear that they were unhappy via email, internet video, and occasionally mail. Some were even violent in their grief. But what he was referencing in particular at that moment was her posttraumatic stress. They had become each other’s anchor. A source of comfort. He was worried for her, left to deal with flashbacks, and nightmares, and anxiety without him there to help. At least for him, it was something he was more familiar with, and also free from the addition of guilt for the event (even though he insisted that what had happened wasn’t her fault)._

_Claire gave him a small smile in response, bringing her hand up to hold one side of his face. It was almost an instinct for him to turn his head and feel her pulse. Following his first nightmare of her death at the park, he liked taking advantage of moments to remind himself she was still breathing and well. He kissed the spot of racing blood in gratitude of its healthy pace._

_“I’ll be fine, Owen,” she tried to assure him. “I can call before bed every night.”_

_He was tempted to make her promise she would, but decided against it at the last minute, worried that he would just sound silly, or childish._

Now, he really wished he had made her promise. Whether it would’ve made a difference or not, he didn’t know, but it would at least ease his anger with himself for not making it more of a responsibility. She was an organized person, after all. If something even as simple as a phone call, was given the title of a job to be done, Claire Dearing would definitely get it done.

Well, technically he _did_ get a phone call. It just wasn’t from her.

_He remembered how anxious he felt that first night without her voice. The first day of her trip, she had arrived in California late, so when she called him, all she had to report was her trip from the airport to her hotel room. Then the second day went by. During the daylight hours, it wasn’t so bad; it was easy to think of her hard at work, just as she usually was. Then at nine o’clock, he figured she should’ve been done and in her hotel room. Every hour that passed after that, without hearing from her, made his concern grow. Eventually, he made it through the silence past midnight, and he still had no intention of sleeping. He had tried calling her cell phone several times, but each time was met with no answer. At first, his attempts were few and far in-between, for he assumed she was still busy with some late work. But at the midnight hour, he found it ridiculous and became more persistent._

_Finally, when it was nearly one in the morning, he got a response from her number. But to his surprise—and dread—the voice on the other line was not Claire’s._

_“Mr. Grady?” asked a high-pitched, almost shy woman’s voice._

_His nerves turned into irritation, which he tried to bite back for the stranger’s sake by rubbing his hand over his face before he replied. “Speaking.”_

_“Oh. Is this Owen Grady, as in the emergency contact we have for Claire Dearing?”_

_He didn’t recall her ever making that change, but if it brought him close to what was going on with Claire, he wasn’t going to question it. “Yeah, I’m—I—I know her.”_

_He shook his head, feeling like that was a dumb answer._

_“Mr. Grady, I don’t mean to alarm you, but this is the St. Patrice Hospital. There was an incident involving Ms. Dearing.”_

_He turned away from the phone for a moment, just to mutter a string of curses._

_He should’ve expected it, really. He had imagined something had happened when he hadn’t heard from her all day. No calls—not even a text message to check on him. No responses for him when he was trying to check on her. His mind had already conjured up excuses for the occurrence, both good and bad, but hearing in reality that something had happened was enough to take him off his feet._

_Sitting on the bed, he tried to remain calm as he continued speaking to the hospital worker. His voice was strained, but at least it was audible. “Is she alright?”_

_“Mr. Grady, first we need to know, when did you last hear from Ms. Dearing?”_

_Goodness, it was like she was taunting him on purpose. By calling him Mr. Grady, she reminded him of Claire. And she was even using Claire’s phone. But she_ wasn’t _Claire._

_“Mr. Grady?”_

_“Last night,” he answered, his voice becoming more snappish than he meant to. “I, um…we talked last night, just before she went to bed. Is she OK?”_

_“They just took her into the back. Emergency services received a phone call from one of the hotel’s staff an hour ago. They found her in the bathroom, but did not yet determine what it is she took, or how many.”_

_Owen could’ve sworn his heart stopped. He couldn’t see straight, and found it hard to breathe for a few tense seconds._

_No. No, Claire wouldn’t try to overdose._ No _. She had to have been forced—maybe someone slipped her something._

_“Hello? Mr. Grady, are you there?”_

_“Yes, yes!” Please don’t hang up. Please let me know she’s OK. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”_

_“Will you be able to come and care for Ms. Dearing? After her treatment?”_

_“I, um—yeah—I—yes, I will,” he stammered, pinching the bridge of his nose out of frustration with himself. It was just so difficult, continuing a conversation with this woman while still trying to accept the concept of Claire being in the hospital, and from her own doing. “Is she alright right now?”_

_“I’m sorry, I don’t know. They just brought her in.”_

_It could be worse. It could be worse. Don’t lose your temper. “What hospital?”_

_“Saint Patrice,” the woman answered patiently._

_“I’ll be over as soon as I can.”_

_And with that, he hung up. He didn’t want to speak to anyone at the moment. He wasn’t ready._

_He drove to the airport, waiting impatiently for the next flight, and then being sent back to actually purchase a ticket for it. The entire ride was torture, being forced to wait without having the option to call the hospital back and check on Claire’s condition (that’s not to say he didn’t try, but the flight attendant threatened to confiscate his phone when he was caught). The highlight of the trip was the taxi cab he found right outside of the airport, where the driver was familiar with the area around the hospital. He was able to make it to the hospital with little trouble. The trouble didn’t arise until he made it inside the hospital. There was no sign of the woman with the high-pitched voice he had spoken to, and no one seemed to be willing to let him into her room._

He was still stuck in the main waiting room as the sun came up, illuminating the blank interior of the hospital through large windows. His mental review of everything that had happened killed his temptation to nod off. Well, that and the sudden voice that acknowledged him. “Claire Dearing?”

He stood up before he even knew who had spoken. In front of him was a tall, lean doctor with dark hair and a spotless white coat.

“Can I see her? Where is she?” Owen demanded breathlessly.

The doctor tried to explain what had happened, but Owen wasn’t absorbing most of it. He had asked what he wanted to know, and this gentleman was not answering yet. Instead, he told the former raptor trainer about the meeting meant to determine the fate of Jurassic World. How none of the other attendants had seen Claire that day. How the staff at the hotel she was staying at hadn’t gone into her room, because she appeared to have never left.

The doctor _thanked_ him. He thanked him for calling her obsessively, because the constant ring of her phone was what ultimately caught the staff’s attention, and encouraged them to inspect the guest that had oddly not left all day. And that’s how they found her, collapsed in the bathroom with a half-empty box. The doctor called him _lucky_ that they had found her and called 9-1-1 when they did. Even then, she had given them a “good scare”. She had ingested too much paracetamol, and it had nearly killed her. The doctor told him that because she had nearly died on their table, they had kept him from seeing her so they could have a closer eye on her.

“But after this many hours,” the doctor was concluding, “it looks like she’s going to remain stable. However, she is still under observation. I can take you back there with her, but must advise you don’t expect much response from her.”

Owen had been waiting for what felt like days to finally check on Claire, and now that he had the chance, he was at a loss of what to do. He nodded dumbly at the doctor, briefly wondering what the name of this man was, who helped heal Claire. But that thought was quickly overpowered by his simple need to see her. To confirm for himself that she was alright now.

He mutely followed the other gentleman, unable to comprehend any of his surroundings. All that was on his mind was the longing to be near his lovable redhead. To hear her heart beating and feel blood rushing beneath her pulse points.

He tried to keep in mind that the doctor told him not to ‘expect much response’, whatever that meant. Though once he made it into the hospital room, he doubted any words could have braced him for the condition he found his beloved girl in.

Claire was usually such a lively person, with a vibrant spirit. So it was odd to see her limply resting inside an uncomfortable looking hospital bed, stainless (a rarity in her life ever since starting a relationship with him) and unmoving, like an untouched treasure being displayed in a museum. For it moment, it seemed like only her hair was the source of color in the room, even though it wasn’t its usual shade of shocking red. Rather, it was darkened a bit, from frizz and crimping that he had hardly seen since the Jurassic World incident (and maybe a certain night or two spent in bed with him). Yet, what held Owen’s attention the most was the arrangement of machines around her bed. He never would’ve imagined his brave, independent Claire Dearing needing such objects for tasks as simple as making sure her heart was beating and her body was hydrated. There was even a cannula below the button nose that Owen adored, having to provide oxygen for her.

He all but stumbled to her side, not even fully aware he was doing so until his fingers were able to find a grip on the edge, just shy of her hand. The doctor remained at a respectful distance by the door, ready to leave the two to their privacy after a needed reminder for Owen, “She’s stable, and it seems she’ll stay that way. We’re only doing extra observations as a precaution, because she gave us such a scare earlier.”

Owen might have nodded in acknowledgement, or he might not have done anything at all as he was left alone with her. She was all he had eyes for. He was heavily tempted to grab the hand that was so close to him, but realized he couldn’t. He was too worried; she seemed so fragile in this state, so easy to break. He kept glancing at her abdomen, eyeing its steady rise and fall. But somehow, it didn’t provide him with any comfort. It seemed so automatic; something forced on her by the machines surrounding her.

He was at a loss of what to do for her. It made him angry, and frustrated, and distraught. It wore down on him physically, his shoulders slumping as though exhausted (however, that was entirely believable—it’s not like he slept at all that night). “Hey, Big Red,” he tried to tease her, knowing very well she hated that particular nickname. He had used it anyways, as if he believed that the very sound of a nickname she detested would be enough to jolt her back into consciousness.

The effort was in vain, and regardless of being a far-fetched idea, it broke him even more. “I don’t…why…? Don’t you know you mean so…you’re my….”

He swallowed, and it was painful. “Don’t leave me, Claire. I can’t…we’ve come this far. _Please_. I know you’re a fighter, you’ll be OK. Please wake up, Claire.”

He finally got the nerve to grasp her hand, holding it up against his cheek the way he knew she would if she were awake to see him so broken. He kissed her unresponsive palm before lacing the fingers on both his hands on either side of hers, holding onto it like a lifeline. “I’m here, Claire. I love you. I love you so much….”

He was on the verge of completely losing it now. He bowed his head, resting his brow against his hand that held onto hers so tightly. If he was going to start sobbing, he would make sure it was at least muffled by the bed sheets. After all that had happened in the last few hours, the last thing he wanted was for Claire to wake up to him grieving. He never wanted to scare his girl like that.

But God, how _she_ had scared _him_. Leaving it to a perfect stranger, who’s face he still hadn’t seen, to tell him in the middle of the night that she had nearly died—by her own hand—alone, in a hotel room so far from their new home. He didn’t know how to feel about that, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He would forgive her. He would do anything if it would coax her into waking up. To end this waking nightmare with her loving voice. With her _real_ heartbeat. Not the machine that constantly beeped at an irritating pitch.

Said machine beckoned some of the medical staff almost an hour later, coming to check on it and her vitals. Owen stepped back into a chair to sit and give the doctor and two nurses room to work, mentally urging them to help Claire get better as soon as she could.

As soon as he thought it, things finally made a turn in his favor.

At first, it was alarming, hearing her heart monitor starting to beep frantically. He stood back up, but the medics were blocking most of his view when they started to gather all around her bed. They sounded calm, asking questions slowly for the patient. He could see her from the waist down, so he was able to notice one arm reaching up to frantically grab at something, and the nearest nurse held it down, telling her to calm down and wondering what she remembered.

“Hey—hey!” Owen started to intervene when the others tried to restrain her as well. If she was panicking, that would not be a very helpful thing to do. He shouldered through them to be at her side, where he had been right before these folks showed up.

Claire looked just as small and fragile as she had moments ago, but this time she had managed to sit up and was looking around the room wide-eyed, as though she were still on an island full of vicious dinosaurs on the loose. To Owen’s relief, the sight of his presence was enough to make her relax. Now the medics were the one giving him space, letting him anchor her in the way only he could.

He started softly shushing her, and to his equal surprise and relief, it seemed to be all that was needed to bring back her hot-blooded feistiness. “I’m not a damn animal,” she snapped at him.

“I know, Red,” he grinned in amusement (only dropping the part of the nickname she disliked because she wasn’t feeling well). He sobered seconds later when he remembered the medics were still there, expecting an update on her condition just like he was. “Claire, how do you feel? You OK?”

She had to physically look down at herself, and it worried him that she seemed so uncertain. He watched her expression carefully, monitoring for any sign of discomfort or pain. He could feel her hands slowly drifting upwards, fisting in the fabric of his oil-stained white shirt. Her voice came out low and emotionless. “My stomach…it hurts.”

She sounded like the pain wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle on her own now, but still, he couldn’t help himself from bringing his hand up to the source of her distress, feeling the cool material covering her skin warm underneath his palm. When he looked back at her eyes, he realized they had become glassy, the way they always did before she got emotional. His first thought was her physical state; was she in that much pain?

Yet, he remained silent while her hands trembled as they sluggishly traveled up to his shoulders. She uttered a distraught squeak before shattering completely, as fast as the wall that the Indominus Rex broke down at the old park’s garage. “I—I’m sorry!” she gasped, repeating the vague apology over and over while she curled up in his embrace.

Owen looked over her hair at the medical staff, hoping they could tell that this wasn’t an issue they were needed for. They left the pair alone, thankfully. Owen knew Claire wasn’t a fan of strangers seeing her vulnerable. One of the nurses shut the door rather loudly behind them, causing Claire to jump a little. Instinctively, Owen reacted by pulling her closer, practically sitting on the bed with her in his lap. Even though they had privacy now, her crying was still quiet, though he knew it was there because of how her shoulders shook and moisture leaked from her eyes into his shirt collar. He repeatedly gave her soft encouragements to take deep breaths, and he could swear that each time, her arms wound themselves a bit tighter around his neck.

He silently rides out the ordeal with her, mentally cursing himself the entire time. He’s always somehow been better with animals than he was with people. Granted, he’s accustomed to comforting her in times of distress and panic, but never for a situation like this, where Claire had harmed herself on purpose. The action was completely unexpected, and now he felt as though anything she did now would be unpredictable. By extension, he felt unsure how he was meant to handle this particular episode, aside from letting her hold onto him whilst he traced random shapes over her back.

She seemed to interpret his silence correctly, the small shower of tears on his shirt coming to a stop and her giving only a few small sniffles as she wriggled out of his loosening hold on her. She sat back, though their faces were still within a few inches of each other’s space. It was close enough for him to notice one remaining tear still clinging to her cheek, stalling its fall halfway on the path marked by its predecessors. He nearly wipes it away with the side of his thumb, but at the last second, changes his mind to kissing it away. He’s noticed by now that she likes surprise kisses, and even though this one tastes of salt and sadness for him, he takes the chance to make her smile.

Her smile is there, albeit small due to the scenario they were in, yet he didn’t notice. His own actions reminded him of one of his favorite things, one that for a few long hours, he worried he would never be able to do again.

The speck becomes a trail he makes down her jawline, his kisses tenderly working their way to a special place on her collarbone where he could feel her blood moving steadily beneath the skin. She instantly knows what he’s doing. She’s noticed his habits by now too.

She hugs him by his neck again, gently pressing one hand against the back of his head to guide him to her chest. To hear her heartbeat. In return, his arm slid back around her, resuming random tracing on her back. She shuddered, though he had reasons to doubt it was from the chill in the air. However, it wasn’t from his calloused touch either. She had a thought, and she knew it was what he needed right now.

She gave him her side of the story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Story updates usually take forever for me. This is exciting, though also nerve-wracking. Chapter 2 ended up shorter than I intended, but as I mentioned before, a fluffy third chapter is a possibility. So, hope it lives up to the anticipation, and please take note of the rating please. :)

He had been right in thinking that his dream of her death by the T-Rex had caused her to start retreating in on herself. It had helped her realize that she wasn’t the only one affected by the Jurassic World incident. And the extent of that effect that she saw in the man she loved hurt her. It hurt, because it made her wonder how long he had kept his own suffering to himself. How long he had assumed he could only be strong for her, and not fully open.

Ironically, she began to close up as a result. She began hiding some of her own stress in the hope that it would encourage him to be more honest about how much he had. It was her stubbornness, her determination to prove she was strong too, that he loved about her. But it had also been her unraveling.

She had flown out for the conference and made it to the hotel like any other business mission. After she had called him, she went to sleep, then the next day woke up early, as she always did for work. The meeting turned out to be delayed until noon, so she passed the time by working on emails. Once she got to this part of the story, he physically flinched, for he knew what often awaited her in her emails after the incident.

Just as he feared, she found quite a supply of hatred in her messages. She claimed she would’ve have called him for support after finding them, but one sender made her completely lose herself. Her assistant, Zara, had been killed on Isla Nublar, leaving her fiancée upset and angry. Claire came across his message, and found it was particularly personal. Which shouldn’t have surprised her; most days, Zara was who she spoke to for a majority of the time. She knew a lot about the park, and probably relented it all to her fiancée. So he knew for a fact just how much power Claire had that terrible day, and even about her personal relationships. He called out her frayed connection to her family. Blamed her for nearly getting her nephews killed. Blamed her for all the casualties at the claws of the Indominus Rex. He blamed her for killing his would-be bride.

Claire left out his threats. Owen already looked on edge from how much guilt Claire was giving herself at this point in the story. She jumped to the moment of her panic, shuddering as she recalled the overwhelming sensation as the panic attack struck. She lost sense of time, of her surroundings. She was thrust back to that horrid island, the day it was filled with screams and horrible cracks of people’s lives being robbed by viscous sets of teeth. Of her desperation to know where her nephews were in the chaos. Seeing her assistant, who was the last to be caring for them, carried away by one of the escaped animals. All sorts of images that would haunt her nights indefinitely.

As she relayed this to Owen, he stopped her before she could give herself another panic attack at the memory. “You could’ve come to me. You didn’t have to…”

“But I didn’t want to,” she saved him from saying what he still didn’t want to admit to himself. “After seeing how you suffered too…I couldn’t bear to bring you into that.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. So he stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue and kissing away some more tears that escaped her in the meantime.

She plunged back into her memory of the panicked state, or really lack thereof. How she lost herself to the guilt and anxiety of being a murderer. Of being a monster. She had only wanted to calm herself down. She wasn’t used to doing that on her own, but she refused to (as she referred to it) drag Owen down with her. She had medicine in her bag that had been meant to help her sleep. Really, it was meant to relax the senses, and she knew that’s what she had needed. She took some, but still felt so much panic in the short time before she was meant to be seen in public. Her head started to pound—probably from the stress she was giving herself—so she took some painkillers stored in the hotel suite’s bathroom cabinet. In the state she was in, she wasn’t able to keep track of how many she took. It was either that, or the mixture of medications in such a short period of time that caused her to lose consciousness.

Owen had to supply the rest of the story for her, saying how he received a phone call at a late hour in the night saying that she had been brought in thanks to a call from hotel staff and was immediately operated on. After he’d flown in, he found she had nearly lost her life, but turned out to be alright, and would only have to spend a few more hours there as a precaution.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he put in seriously.

She sighed, bringing her hand to his face and rubbing the space below his eye with the side of her thumb. “I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ , sorry.”

“If we’re going to survive, we do it _together_. OK?”

She nodded, looking down as though she were a child that had just been scolded by their parent. “OK.”

“Promise?”

She brought her eyes back to his, leaning in so they could rest their foreheads against each other’s. “I promise.”

“For survival.”

They spoke at the same time, and it makes her smile. He reveled in the image, beginning to imagine her finally starting to forgive herself. And to see her spirit lift a little after the hellish night made the ordeal a little more bearable.

A few hours later, the hospital released her, but the next flight home wasn’t until the following morning. So they returned to her hotel room, receiving several relieved smiles from staff to see her looking well again. They camped out in the suite, dining on snacks from a nearby vending machine and room service. He began to fret over her when she pulled out her laptop, but once she’s confirmed her meeting has been moved again, to four weeks from then, she puts it away to resume enjoying his company.

That night they went to bed early (well, early for them), but don’t immediately get sleep. They both knew Owen was ready to at least close his eyes after his sleepless night, and Claire snuggled up to his warmth, accepting the quieted characters on the television as company. He could feel himself starting to drift off, so he gave on last kiss as a way to say goodnight.

Somehow, he got carried away with that.

Perhaps the fact that he didn’t think to bring along any extra clothing in his rush to get there, therefore he only had boxers to sleep in, helped a little. By the time he’d re-traced his favorite trail down her jaw and collarbone to her pulse-point, his body had shifted over hers, though he was careful not to have his weight entirely on top of her. She reciprocated each of his tender touches with her own, yet he remained far more engrossed in her pleasure than his own.

He took his time, and at first, he believed it was his way to of taking vengeance on her for what had occurred in the previous twenty hours. But as their actions continued, he slowly came to the terms that instead, he does it all as a display of gratitude that the ordeal didn’t take a turn for the worst. He wants to take time to re-memorize every curve and freckle he very nearly lost, gently nipping and marking all his favorite places like a reader marking all their favorite parts of an intriguing novel. He didn’t even take pride, as he usually did, in the way only he had figured out how to reduce the headstrong, independent Claire Dearing into a gasping mess of unintelligible squeals. He could only vaguely register that sweat was silkily escaping from her skin, which begged the question, how long had he spent just relishing in her being? He didn’t dwell on conscious thought for long though, seeing as once he’d helped her wrap her legs around his waist, they both reached a breaking point within seconds of each other.

He waited for her to relax from her high, still not moving from where he hovered above her. She needed a moment to catch her breath, then reminded him that she loved him.

He loved her too. He told her so. Then, with less intensity than before, he peppered some more kisses down her chest, blocked only by her brassiere that had somehow remained despite their heated actions. As he did so, he shared more loving words with her, in the form of a light-hearted daydream of her dressed in all white (just as stunning as she always was in it), and him showing off for a collection of their friends and her family just how much he loves her. And some time later, she’ll hand him a beautiful little girl that shares their features. She protested there, saying she wanted a boy, but grew quiet rather soon, seeing as his mouth had reached its way very far south. He mentally swears he can feel her approval of his ‘bedtime story’ as they make love all over again, gradually warding off bad thoughts and haunted dreams for each other that night.

He intends for her to scare him only one more time in the near future. When the day comes, he can only hope she’ll say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's the most risqué my stories have ever come to. Hope it suits your fancy, fellow Clawen fans!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave in! I had to! I felt too sorry for my Claire-Bear and Owen! Enjoy pointless fluff.

If the pale blue numbers on the hotel nightstand were to be believed, Owen hadn’t slept as late as he thought he would after about twenty-two hours without slumber. Although, it was apparent that Claire wasn’t going to wait for him at half past nine in the morning, seeing as he was awakened by her futile attempt to sneak back into bed after brushing her teeth, hair, and getting dressed. Now clad in only an undershirt and underwear (since none of the skirts she’d packed were comfortable enough for a lazy morning), he watched his favorite redhead crawl under the bed sheets and nudge her way back under his arm. Once her head resurfaced, she burrowed her face into his collarbone, not bothering to be subtle anymore since she’d noticed he’d already woken up. “Turn it off…” she grumbled into his skin.

He glanced around the room, but didn’t find anything she could be referring to. “Red, do you mean the sun?” he chuckled, looking over her shoulder at the open curtains welcoming warm rays of sunshine into their room.

Claire practically growled at his lack of support, which only succeeded in making him laugh some more. However, his conscience did win him over after a moment, and he got up to close the curtains, stepping on his discarded boxers and putting them on to protect him from the absurd chill in the room. Even after he had closed the curtains, he still earned an irritated groan from the redhead, though now because his body warmth was gone and searching for him with just her arm wasn’t succeeding. He watched her fish around for him for the brief second before she gave in and burrowed under the bed covers.

Owen flopped down beside her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head in apology. Claire brought out her face again, though wasn’t quite looking at him as she bit her lip.

“What you thinking about?” he wondered curiously, eyeing how her teeth folded her lip beneath them and trying to ignore the feelings it stirred within him.

Her eyes flicked up at him, accompanied by a coy half-smile. “Just this handsome, brawny guy I know, who can always make me laugh, and charm me, and make me see stars in less than one day.”

Owen rolled onto his back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah? Is he bigger than me? Can I beat him up?”

Claire laughed at his over-acting, knowing fully well that he knew she loved him too much to fathom having someone else at the same time. But once she’d composed herself, she went along with his teasing. “Why? What would you do to him?”

“Well,” he swept the pad of his thumb beneath his nose and hunched his shoulder to look like the tough kid on a school playground. “I’d wait for him by the bike rack before school…”

He stayed in character despite hearing her laugh, which was a sound he adored. “…right before he goes in for gym class. And I’ll have my sock full of marbles with me—”

“Sure.” Claire was really battling to keep a straight face.

“—and first I’ll rough him up a bit just for his lunch money.”

“OK.”

“And then I’ll swing the sock around a few times to scare him before going for the underwear.”

Claire shook her head at him, though she had a not so subtle smile as she did. “You’re an idiot.”

“I am not!”

More laughter encouraged her smile to grow, nodding her head at him now.

“Oh yeah?” He was willing to show her who would have the last laugh. He propped himself up, leaning over her to let his arm slither beneath the bedsheets and dig his fingertips into her ribs. She squealed, though not without laugher, and tried to roll out of his grasp, effectively making him tickle her more. She tried to crawl away, but once she’d reached the very edge of the bed, he wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her back, flopping onto his back and trying to keep the squirming woman against his chest. She managed to writhe out of his grip, though not for long as he sat up on his knees and pulled her back by her ankles. He earned a mixed squeak and shriek from her, since she didn’t which to do. He rolled her over, despite her persisting wriggles and pinned her down, straddling her hips and holding her wrists down on either side of her head. “The indomitable Claire Dearing is down!” he yelled with the same theatricality as the announcer at a wrestling match.

“That’s one,” he kissed her forehead. “Two,” he kissed the bridge of her nose. “Three,” he kissed the tip of her nose. “Four,” a kiss to her lips. “Do you give in?”

“Never!” Claire barked defiantly.

He leaned down to press a final kiss just behind her ear, where he knew would make her squeal and curl her toes into the bed. “OK—OK, _OK_!” she finally surrendered when he began to suck on the sensitive spot.

He gave a huff of triumph, rolling off of her at last. She playfully smacked his shoulder as he stood up from the bed, the smallest hint of laughter still in her eyes.

Owen sauntered casually to his shirt from the day before, picking it up off the chair armrest. “What time was that flight back home again?” he asked as he slipped the stained white material over his head.

“Umm…” Claire propped herself up on her elbows, looking over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “We have forty-five minutes until we have to be at the gate.”

“Really?” he imitated her coy half-smile. “You want to get it on real quick?”

She rolled her eyes, sitting up and then plopping back against the pillow. “Not at all.”

“Why not?” he questioned incredulously, stepping back to the side of the bed to make sure he was looking at the same Claire Dearing from the night before.

“ _Because,_ I have to re-pack my stuff, and I want to get an early cab out in case of unexpected delays, not to mention you phrased the activity _so_ crudely, and we still have to get _your_ …ticket…anyways….” She trailed off in curiosity when he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it tenderly.

He pressed another kiss to the side of her wrist, meeting her eyes unwaveringly. “Claire Dearing,” his voice rumbled seriously. “You are a _painfully_ organized person. You are too stubborn for your own good. But you’re also very determined.”

At that, he gently skimmed another kiss against the skin, barely an inch away from where the last one had been “You’re spirited. You’re strong.”

He brushed a kiss just below the crook of her elbow. “You are beautiful.”

Another kiss, this time just above where her forearm began. She found herself leaning closer to him to give him easier access. “I love you. So, _so_ much.”

She could barely feel her arm sliding back to herself, the distance between him and her being replaced by her face nearing his.

“It is an honor to have you in my life.” His kiss makes a home on the apple of her cheek.

“ _You_ are my life,” he concluded lovingly, pressing his last kiss to the very corner of her mouth before pulling away.

She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her as he did, wanting (in her mind) a proper kiss. “I love you, too,” she murmured breathlessly, her mind swirling. Her hands fisted against his shirt, her gaze pressed against his with an almost wild passion. “Let’s get it on!”

He chuckled, giving no protest as her arms found their way around his neck, pulling him onto the bed above her. And every second that followed of clothes being shed, and bed sheets ruffled was worth it.

Even though she gave him an earful over half an hour later when they nearly miss their flight home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest, these two are like rabbits in the springtime. XD Hope you enjoyed, 'cause I already have some more fic ideas for these two. I swear, Clawen feels are like a welcome infection!


End file.
